So I read somewhere that every time you fall in love, you lose two friends. If that's remotely true, I believe that every time you fall out of love, you lose even more.
Looking back at my past breakups, I've lost way too many friends in the crossfire. I've lost friends to malicious rumors, to other friends, and to no longer being around. It's really heartbreaking. These were really good friends, friends that got me through hard times and were there for me when no one else was. And then the tables turned. I needed these people and they pulled the rug right out from under me. Saying they turned on me might be too harsh, but at the time that's how it felt.
The following is going to seem angry, but I know that in my heart of hearts, there's no reason for me to be upset anymore.
I want to thank the friend who told all my friends that I cheated on the latest ex at that time. If you hadn't done that, I wouldn't have moved on from that stage in my life and found the friends I have now.
I want to thank the friend who married the guy I thought I was going to marry. If you hadn't moved in before I got a chance to rekindle that relationship, I would probably still be pretending to be someone that I never really liked.
I want to thank the friends who stopped talking to me after I left the church/ after they got married . If you would have kept in contact, I would probably still have talked to you and tried to be your friend, but since you didn't I realized that it's the quality of my friends, not the quantity.
If any of the aforementioned friends read this, I'd like to recap that I'm not mad about it anymore. And if you want to catch up, I'd really like that. Thanks.

At least out loud, I won't say I'm in love.

To start off, I don't want to jinx myself, as I've done in the past, by saying that I like this Evan guy more than a little. Because, if you haven't noticed, when I do blog about a guy I'm dating, things inevitably end directly afterwards. So I'm not going to do that.
I'm not going to say that we love each other. I'm not going to say that I love being around him. I'm not going to say that we go together very well. I won't say any of that.
I'm not going to divulge that we never would have met if it wasn't for me lustfully saying "I love you" under my breath as he was walking out the door of Rutters. I'm not going to tell you about how we were never supposed to meet and he was never supposed to fall head over heels in love with me. I would never.
I'm not going mention that I get pissed off when I'm not around him, but the second I'm back with him I'm fine. I'm not going to explain to you how he won't officially ask me out until he can make it "special" or some such nonsense. I just couldn't.
So, maybe I'll blog about those things one day, but that day is definitely not today.

Let me share with you the details of my trip home tonight. Believe me: you want to know them.
So, I'm driving along, minding my own business, grooving to the sweet sounds of Radiohead, when I see a sign saying "CAUTION: SOBRIETY CHECK AHEAD." My first thought was great. I seem a little drunk during every moment of my life, so this can't go well. So, I pull up to the designated check area and am greeted by three cops. All of whom are staring at me like I might pull out a glock at any point, because apparently I look like someone who would do that. After some "Hello theres" and "How are you this evening, Ma'ams," the center cop (whom I like to refer to as The Good Guy) asks for my license and registration. Having little experience with being pulled over, I pulled out my registration and had to ask the cop if that was indeed the paper he needed. Meanwhile, the other two were making comments on how I had too many snacks and whether or not I had just come to a sleepover. The Good Guy noticed their commentary and saw my bag of Lay's Chicken and Waffles and asked if I liked them, to which I answered positively and discussed the other flavors with him. Then the fun part starts. I will now transcribe this in script form.

Scene- Still at the stupid sobriety check
Asshole Cop: Hey. Are those brass knuckles on your shirt?
Me: Yeh. It's a shirt for br--
A.C.: You got brass knuckles on your shirt?? [to all 30 volunteers and cops standing around staring at my car] HEY YOU GUYS! SHE'S GOT BRASS KNUCKLES ON HER BOOBS!!
The Good Guy: Alright Ma'am, you have a good evening and drive back to East Berlin safely.
Me: Uh... Yeh.
The End.

So, in conclusion,
since I wasn't allowed to explain myself to A.C. (which I shouldn't have to since I did nothing wrong and he's a complete stranger who I owe nothing to), here's an open statement to him:

First off, I'd like to state that it's none of your business that I have so many different snacks in my car, besides the fact that you were obligated to check my car for open bottles and that nonsense. Let me apologize for needing food at a moment's notice in case my sugar drops. And a sleepover? Really? If I was at a sleepover, wouldn't I still be at the sleepover, considering that it was 1:30 am? That's freakin' prime sleepover action time. Don't be dumb.
And yes, I did have brass knuckles on my shirt, which you clearly could see, so there was no need to ask me twice. You could also very simply see that they were pink. What you could not see was the back of my shirt that said "Keep calm and fight on" with a pink ribbon at the top. Maybe if you had been somewhat of a decent person, you would have let me tell you that the shirt was for breast cancer awareness and the pink brass knuckles were symbolic of the fight against breast cancer, which my sister-in-law is fighting now. So, yeh. Go ahead and make a joke about breast cancer. I double dog dare you, because really, I've had a day full of moron AND I'm PMSing.By the way, you don't know me. That means you don't get to call my boobs "boobs," much less talk about them. That's a term reserved for people who know me and respect me. Learn some manners, you ignorant, double-chinned gorilla. You're an example of the people who give cops a bad name. You're welcome.